


Every Moment's an Ambush

by kaci3PO



Category: The Following
Genre: 1x06 tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaci3PO/pseuds/kaci3PO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul and Jacob, the aftermath.</p>
<p>Episode tag for 1x06, picking up immediately after Paul's, "Thank you. For not leaving me."</p>
<p>(Note: there is discussion of violence in this fic, but not to the level that I would consider "graphic." If you're okay with the show, then you should be okay with the content of this fic. There is also mention of Emma and the boys' relationship(s) with her, but again, it's only briefly mentioned so I didn't feel it was enough to warrant labeling this fic with those relationships.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Moment's an Ambush

Jacob got certified in first aid during his first year of teaching second grade. The school brought in the Red Cross once a year and attendance was mandatory for all teachers. The certification has expired by now, but Jacob remembers well enough what to do.

"Thank you for not leaving me," Paul says, and Jacob covers Paul's hands with his, grounding him to the here and now.

He leans back, shucking off his hoodie, and then pulls off his t-shirt.

"Oh, sure, _now_ ," Paul mutters. It's obvious he's trying to make a joke, but Jacob is too busy tearing his t-shirt into strips to bother trying to pretend it's funny. With nothing else for a bandage, his shirt will have to do. It's cleaner than Paul's blood-soaked one, at least, and between that and having Paul keep constant pressure on the wounds, he thinks he might be buying them some time.

He drives until it's dark, then finds a clinic. Hospitals would be full of people, but the clinic is dark and empty, its doctors more concerned with going home to their families than with saving lives.

Jacob helps Paul inside and onto an examination table, then digs through the supplies until he finds a suture kit, bandages, and a bottle of penicillin. He hands Paul the phone and asks him to Google the recommended dosage for an adult his size.

If they survive this, Jacob is going to have a breakdown into hysterical laughter over how fucking absurd this is.

The good thing about Ryan using a knife (if there is anything good about what Ryan did) is that there's nothing to take out of the wounds like there would be with a gunshot. He missed most of the major organs, as far as Jacob can figure (since he assumes Paul would be dead by now otherwise), so Jacob just sets to sewing up the wounds. Paul squeezes the side of the table through the whole procedure, but when it's done, he gives Jacob a grateful smile. Jacob dresses the wounds, then gives Paul a shot of the penicillin before grabbing enough medicine and syringes to last until he thinks Paul will be in the clear of infection.

They wash as much of the blood off of themselves as they can, and then Jacob helps Paul back to the car. Paul looks pale and scared and Jacob aches with it.

"You need blood," he says once they're back on the road.

"No," Paul says. "You'd never make it through a hospital."

"What's your type?" Jacob asks. "Maybe we're a match."

"A positive."

"Shit," Jacob groans. "B negative."

"It's fine, Jacob," Paul says. "I just...fuck, I need somewhere to rest. And food. Doesn't eating help you replace blood? Like protein or something?"

Jacob wracks his brain, trying to remember his training. "It helps," he says finally. "But it's not...you need a fucking transfusion."

"That's not an option," Paul says. "Just...shit, try to find a hotel. We can break into an empty room."

"How's that going to help?"

"I don't fucking know, Jacob," Paul groans. "You've been driving for way too long. You're tired. I'm tired and bleeding to death. We need to fucking rest."

Jacob starts trying to think of who they can get in touch with, or how they can get out of this, and starts to hyperventilate.

The hotel they find is rundown and spread out, horizontal instead of vertical. They find a room that looks unoccupied, far away from the office, and break in. There's only one bed. Jacob doesn't mention it.

Jacob checks the dressing on Paul's wounds and is relieved to find that they're not bloody yet. The bleeding must've at least slowed by now, which can only be a good sign.

He paces the room while Paul lies there, watching him, waiting him out. It's infuriating.

"Will you just say something already?" Jacob snaps. "Don't go quiet on me. Not right now."

Paul sighs. "Well...I did want to ask you one thing. How'd it feel?"

"How'd what feel?"

"Beating the shit out of that guy on the road. Did it feel good? As good as it felt to have your hands around Meghan's neck?"

Jacob swallows. "It — better. It felt better."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't have to think about it. I just...did it. I wasn't...choosing it. It was just something that I had to do."

"Why?"

"My second graders asked that question less than you."

"Jacob."

Jacob scrubs a hand over his face. "It — it wasn't a choice because I had to save you. He didn't matter because — because the alternative was you. And if the choice is someone else over you..."

He doesn't say, "Then I'm picking you every time." It's a lie and they both know it. Jacob demonstrated that pretty well during their first few days at the farmhouse with Emma. But Emma made her choice, too. She took herself off of Jacob's list of options. When he looks at what he has left...yeah. Paul wins hands-down.

Paul smiles. Faintly, but there, that flirty little smile he tries so hard to hide. "That's almost romantic of you, Jacob."

"Paul."

"I'm probably dying here, Jacob. Let me have this one."

Jacob sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. "You should be resting."

"I am. I find this very relaxing."

"Funny, I think it's pretty damn stressful."

"At least you're talking," Paul says. "That's already an improvement."

Jacob shifts until he's laying down beside Paul, staring up at the ceiling. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that they're back in their townhouse, that Paul is shirtless because they've just finished fucking, that his own heart is racing from what their bodies were only starting to learn to do.

"Why did you — that night, with me and Emma," Paul starts. "Why did you have sex with us if you didn't want to?"

Things were so much more honest back in that townhouse. They both knew the score there and now that he's been with the two of them together, he thinks Emma knew even back then, too.

"I wanted to," Jacob says after a moment. "I — even the parts that were just me and you. I wanted it."

"Then...?"

Jacob shrugs. "I'm not —"

"I'm not either," Paul says.

Jacob lifts an eyebrow. "Sure."

"I'm not," Paul says. "Or did you forget about the parts that were me and Emma?"

"I just thought you were...I don't know, putting up with that, to have me."

Paul shakes his head. "No, Jacob. I wasn't."

Jacob goes silent for a long moment, then whispers, "Paul, you can't die on me. Okay?"

Paul snorts. "Trying not to."

Jacob rolls over and catches Paul's eye. "No," he repeats. "You can't. Emma left us and I don't know what we're supposed to do and I can't — I can't kill anybody so you have to live, okay?"

"That's the only reason? Because you need someone to be the muscle?"

"You know it's not, Paul."

The tiny voice in his head that Jacob spends most of his life ignoring whispers _tell him tell him tell him_ , but Jacob doesn't. He doesn't even know what to say.

He falls asleep at some point after that, waking before dawn with his arm looped over Paul. It takes him a moment to realize that Paul's breathing is different than he remembers from hundreds of nights sharing his bed. Shallower, more hollow. Scarier.

He stays like that, waiting to see if Paul will wake up and too afraid to just shake him to find out. When Paul's eyes finally flutter open, it's like a weight disappears off of Jacob's chest.

"Good mor—" Paul manages to get out before Jacob's mouth is on his, a complete mockery of the first aid training that got them this far but so, so much better.

"Good morning," Jacob says when he pulls back, a little breathless. "I should — I should check your dressing."

"Uh, yeah," Paul says, groaning as he rolls over to let Jacob see it. "Yeah, you should —"

"I'm still not gay," Jacob says, ignoring the way Paul's skin feels so familiar under his fingertips.

"Okay," Paul says softly. "That's fine."

Jacob changes the dressing, then gives Paul another shot of the antibiotic before climbing back into bed with him.

"It was — that night, with you and her, it was good."

"Hm?"

"I told you it wasn't," Jacob reminds him. "But it was — it was great."

"I know," Paul says, sounding far too smug for a guy who's still at death's door. Off Jacob's look, Paul chuckles softly. "What?" he asks. "I spent years playing your body like a harp. Like I don't still know how to make you sing?"

Jacob laughs awkwardly. "We should — we should get out of here. Before the maids start making their rounds."

Paul nods, and Jacob helps him stand. They have no belongings, so there's no need to double-check the room as they head for the car. Jacob still has no plans beyond maybe trying to shoplift some clothes and steal some money so that they can get Paul something to eat, but the fact that Paul felt okay enough to flirt with him is a comforting fact.

Jacob never thought he'd end up on the run like this when he joined up with Joe. He figured he and Emma would play their part and then die at each other's sides.

He doesn't know what his part even is anymore.

He looks over at Paul, gives him a smile Jacob's not entirely sure he means, and drives.

**Author's Note:**

> I did some research into stab wounds, but the internet's main advice seems to be "GO TO A HOSPITAL" which of course, Paul can't do, so I did the best I could with the medical concerns and I hope you'll forgive me for anything I got wrong.
> 
> (You can, however, Google the appropriate dosage of penicillin. Apparently the internet is fine with sharing information about antibiotics.)
> 
> Title comes from a quote by Horace.


End file.
